


Jealous

by vwright



Category: Ylvis
Genre: AU - no wives no kids, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1849351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwright/pseuds/vwright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegard's jealous, you know how it goes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealous

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The events, characters, and entities depicted in this work are fictional. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events, entities, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
> 
> Just a short little thing as a birthday present for the lovely Mona (aka ylvisfangirl). It's still your birthday in the US so this counts!

_"Do you live together?"_

_"Yes of course."_

As far as Vegard was concerned, it wasn't actually a given, since Bård spent most of his time out of the apartment with friends these days. And when they were working, his mind was elsewhere. It was the third night in a row Bård had gone out, and the third night in a row that Vegard had declined to join him. They were meant to be spending their two week break from performances working, coming up with new ideas for the next show. Instead, Bård mostly played video games while Vegard frequently forgot to remind him of what they were supposed to be doing. Not that it was anything out of the ordinary, only now when Vegard called his attention, Bård's eyes were distant, mostly responding with non-committal hums to his brother's ideas. 

"Don't be such a sad-sack. Just come out with us if you're going to pout about it." Bård bent over on his seat on the couch, tying his trademark sneakers paired with a dress shirt.

"And do what? Watch you and your friends get drunk while I sit there, ignored and miserable?" Vegard was curled up in his corner of their couch, clutching a pillow to his chest with his arms crossed around it. He wore his most irritated expression.

"Or you could also get drunk, and maybe, I don't know, actually talk to people? Have you tried that yet?" Bård stood and walked to the door.

Vegard groaned as if in pain at the mere thought, but when he actually took a second to think about it, getting drunk seemed like the perfect remedy to his current frustration. 

"Fine, I'll go. But I won't enjoy myself."

"Right, of course not. Get your coat and hurry the fuck up."

  

* * *

  

By the grace of some god, his friends had opted for a regular bar instead of a club. Bård rallied hard for the dark, noisy, sweat dungeons (as Vegard liked to call them), but as it was their third night out, and a Sunday, everyone decided they preferred something calmer. It surprised Vegard, given the obnoxious nature of Bård's friends that never seemed to subside, but it inspired some hope that perhaps the night wouldn't be a disaster after all. 

The place wasn't so crowded, and they sat at the bar, throwing back two shots each before settling into conversation. Vegard scored a seat beside his brother, which he had hoped would increase his chances of actually speaking to him throughout the night. Over the next twenty minutes, he spent more time looking at Bård's back than anything else. Occasionally he would get a glimpse of his profile, his smile spreading out across his cheek, teeth bared as he laughed at a rude comment from one of the others.

After nearly six years of lusting after his own brother, Vegard thought he would have had a better handle on this by now. Evidently not. He felt the familiar broil in his veins, spreading across his neck in waves of heat as he saw his brother being filled with happiness--the cause of it someone besides him. He knew it was a stupid thing to expect--he hardly ever got his brother to laugh with him rather than at him--but he felt he reserved the right to keep trying unopposed until he succeeded. He hoped to do this indefinitely. They got asked a lot if they get sick of each other. They always answered _yes, obviously_ , but in truth the only thing Vegard really got sick of was how truthful Bård tried to make that response.

There were only three of them, three rivals for his brother's attention, though one in particular seemed to be interacting with Bård the most. This man, Rune--tall and muscly--also happened to be the most annoying, to Vegard's chagrin. He wasn't in the entertainment business, but he had the air of someone who thought they should be, and Vegard had always questioned his motives when it came to his and Bård's friendship. The man clapped one of his large hands on Bård's, howling in laughter, and Vegard had to turn his head away to hide his distaste. He rose from his barstool and headed to the bathroom for some momentary respite.

Standing at the urinal, he turned his head when Bård walked in. As his brother sidled up at the one beside him, Vegard put on his sourest frown. 

"Could you possibly look a little less miserable?" Bård asked, his voice a tie between tired and bored.

"Nope," Vegard answered. He walked over to the sink, turning the faucet all the way to hot.

"Well you're being a real fucking downer, you know." Bård turned and strode over to his brother. "You're making everyone uncomfortable."

Bård turned his faucet, while Vegard applied a generous amount of soap to his hands. He scrubbed his skin with an intensity he would regret later.

"Why did you invite me out then if your friends hate me?"

Vegard looked to his brother who had already finished washing his hands, standing there with his palms still dripping. In the yellow-green light of the bathroom, Bård looked pale, blue eyes tinted an odd shade he wasn't used to. But even then, with his eyes a little glassy, Vegard found his brother a sight to be seen. He fixated on his neck, his pulse point faintly thumping away, and he had to swallow down carnal urges as was routine.

"Maybe they wouldn't hate you if you didn't only talk to me the entire time." Bård stared back, actually looking in his eyes, and there seemed to be a hint of a genuine request there. Vegard regretted seeing it, regretted noticing, and regretted going out at all. He broke the gaze and hastily rinsed off his hands.  

"Whatever," he mumbled back, response a bit late even for the alcohol that impaired them. 

 

When they returned, one of the group suggested they grab a booth. Both Ylvisåkers were happy to agree on that, and the five of them sauntered over to an empty one, bringing along two pitchers of beer. Vegard hated beer.

As they piled into the booth, Vegard stuck close to Bård so their seating order would be just to his liking. Though he wasn't sure how, Rune ended up sliding himself in between them, and his large bodily presence obstructed his contact with Bård in the booth. Whether it was the alcohol warping his perception or not, he thought he saw a look of relief on Bård's face. He decided even more alcohol would be the solution to the problem of his rising anger.

As the night wore on, Vegard grew quieter as the group grew much, much louder. They started getting looks from other tables, which angered more than embarrassed him. He knew how his brother was when he was properly drunk--smiley, happy, touchy. It was one of the only reasons why he agreed to a night of getting blackout drunk his brother and his bottom-feeder buddies in the first place. Now Bård felt miles away, never casting a look in his brother's direction even for a moment. He knew for certain, as he was watching his eyes the entire time.

After six failed attempts at kicking his brother's legs under the table and just hitting the booth instead, he leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He decided to resign himself to an evening of pure misery, with no chance of revenge or redemption. Swiftly following this decision, he saw Rune swing his heavy arm over his brother's shoulder, into which Bård leaned his whole weight as they spoke to the others. In a rush of crashing emotions, Vegard suddenly felt anxious, angry, nauseous, burning and cold all over. He wondered how he could even feel something so complicated in his highly intoxicated state, but it was really quite simple.  

He was jealous: of Bård's friends, of the heavy laughter falling from their lungs, the moments of joy they were extracting from his brother. He was having none of it, and he simply couldn't stand for it any longer. He wanted to siphon every drop of his brother's attention and funnel it straight into his waiting, watering mouth. There was a flush high on Bård's cheeks, and he could hear little else but the blood pumping in his ears at the sight. 

Just then Rune decided to get up from the booth, shouting something obscene about his bladder. Vegard got up and stepped aside, allowing him to brush past him brusquely. When he sat back down, Vegard knocked into his brother's side. The bare brush of skin on their forearms set a forest fire ablaze across every nerve beneath his skin. Bård still didn't look at him. He didn't even seem to notice their changed proximity, simply carrying on the conversation with the others across the table. Vegard tried again to kick him, lightly at first, and connected with Bård's sneaker. He looked up to his brother's face, failing to see any recognition whatsoever. He picked up a rhythm of kicking, increasing the pressure of each hit as each time his brother wholly ignored him. A ripple of searing anger ran from his fingernails to his scalp, Bård doubling over at something that Vegard didn't hear. His eyes honed in on the half full pitcher in front of him, and then like someone else was controlling him, the liquid was pushed off the edge of the table and into Bård's lap.

"Fuck!" Bård yelped, eyes at last torn from the hated men at the booth. Vegard marveled at how effectively it worked.

"Sorry," he muttered, before gaining some semblance of his senses. Bård looked at him, completely confused as to how his body became drenched so suddenly. Vegard was seemingly off the hook, no one noticing the blatant purposefulness of the spill. Bård, who was maybe even more drunk than Vegard, stared on helplessly at his big brother, a sort of sad pleading in his gaze. A surging thrill of power stabbed in his gut, and he decided to follow his instincts for once in his life. 

"Up, get up," Vegard ordered. He pulled Bård by the arm out of the booth, holding a tight grip on him as he dragged him toward the bathroom. Bård made some feeble protest, but Vegard pushed on. They passed Rune on the way, who gave them a questioning look. As Bård began to speak, Vegard interrupted with a concise "Bathroom; cleaning him up. We'll be back."

He pushed Bård first through the doors, fingers digging sharp into his shoulders. Bård issued complaints of _wait a second, hold on,_ and _stop it_ , before Vegard led him to one of two cramped stalls in the bathroom. He left the stall door open, focusing instead on shoving his larger, heavier little brother hard against the side.

"Jesus fucking christ, Vegard, what are you doing?" Bård asked when he was finally cornered, his brother stepped directly in front of him in the narrow space. Vegard slid his hand up Bård's neck without hesitation, and closed the space completely as he pulled his lips to his.

Bård was sufficiently silenced, after the initial shocked "mmph" he let out. Vegard didn't have the mental capacity to savor every sensation the rough kiss gave him; his mind was racing so fast just at the realization that it was happening. That he'd dared to do it. A hand came to rest at his waist, and he felt the pressure returned as the lips started moving against his own. The sting of pleasure zapped some cognizance into Vegard, and he pulled away as suddenly as he had leaned in. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, everything in his tone and body accusatory. 

"What do you mean?" Bård looked equally angered, but with slightly more confusion. "I'm kissing you."

"Why? You don't like me that way." Despite his every wish being fulfilled, Vegard couldn't help but be wary of such a fine result to an action so severe. But Bård's mouth just turned into a lazy, pleased smirk and a low chuckle fell onto his brother's face.

"Wow, I must be a better actor than I thought." Bård lifted his hand to touch Vegard's cheek, caressing it gently with warm, calloused fingertips. The older man exhaled as if in annoyance, questions still remaining in his buzzing mind.  

"You've been ignoring me."

"It's called repression," Bård said, offering no more explanation before taking a better hold of Vegard's head and kissing him properly.  

Vegard tried to catalog the moment, mark down every swipe of his tongue, every little move that made Bård's breath hitch. Before long it was him that was pressed up against the stall, his needy little brother taking charge as he was wont to do. Vegard didn't mind, reveling in how focused Bård's efforts were now, and entirely on him. Doing less of the work, his mind inevitably started to wander in its pleasure, vaguely thinking of all the new uses every piece of furniture in their apartment would come to have. 


End file.
